The War Chronicles: Untold
by Brihna
Summary: A series of one-shots and drabbles set within the universe of The War Chronicles series. Genres will vary. Will add characters to the list as they become applicable. Rated T to be safe.
1. Withdrawal

**_Greetings, readers!_**

**_So, this is an idea that I have had for quite some time, though I had not planned on pursuing it until after the series was finished. I knew that I would never want to permanently leave this universe that I have created, so I decided that I would keep a story open in which I would share a series of one-shots and various drabbles set within the universe of The War Chronicles series._**

**_I am currently in the planning stage of REVOLUTION and I've sort of hit a block, so I came up with an idea:_**

**_Why not open up my little one-shot page now? _**

**_I've been filling the TARDIS journal I do all of my writing in with a lot of drabbles lately anyway in an attempt to get my creative juices flowing, so I figured, why not share some of them? (At least the readable ones, that is, lol.) That way, maybe I can work out some of my little plot bunnies and still give you guys some little tidbits to tide you over until I can get my shit together on the main story! :P_**

**_So here's the deal with these:_**

**_The stories you will find here are not necessarily going to be in any kind of order (or necessarily be very long). At the top of each, I'll probably give some kind of little summary to let you know where it's happening in the timeline. There will likely be some "deleted scenes" of sorts included here, or just little things I'd like to share that I feel don't exactly fit in the main story. Really, these will just be whatever happens into my head within this universe._**

**_So, I hope you enjoy this first little drabble! I think the date and title of this one should probably give you a good enough idea of what's happening in this one, so I'll leave you to it._**

**_Please share your thoughts and feel free to throw out any requests! It may help my writer's block. ;) _**

* * *

_Summary: Only in the darkest times does one fully appreciate the light…_

* * *

**Withdrawal**

_Essex, 1969_

He deserved this.

The more he began to remember, the more the faces of his victims haunted his dreams, Mitchell realized; he deserved this.

He often wondered what his old parish priest would say, what penance he could possibly do to atone for all his sins. Because it wasn't just the faces of his victims that plagued his nightmares; it was hellfire. So vivid he could feel the flames, hear the screams of the damned- his fellow prisoners sentenced to eternal torment. But that was the fate of all murderers, wasn't it? How could he ever hope for anything but Hell? It was what he deserved.

What he didn't deserve was comfort.

He didn't deserve the strong arms that would envelope him when he woke up screaming during the night- the whispered words promising it was going to get better. And yet he accepted these things without hesitation, because if there was one thing that becoming a vampire had instilled in him, it was self-preservation. And cowardice.

The first few times he had been only vaguely aware of this presence, having been half delirious from withdrawal and the terror of his nightmares. He had clung to the figure like a lifeline, seeking an anchor to the waking world. At first he had been confused, disoriented.

He could recall a time during his childhood; both he and his mother were suffering from a terrible fever that had plagued their village, leaving his father struggling to care for them both and still keep up with his work. During those nights he was often plagued with terrible nightmares as well, likely brought on by the fever. But he always awoke in his father's arms, to comforting words in the darkness, and there he would remain until he fell asleep once more. It was a memory he had not recalled for decades.

But the arms that he awoke to of late were not his father's, the whispered words spoken to him were English, not the melodic Gaelic of his upbringing. And yet he found comfort, he felt safe, just as he had on those nights long ago when he was just a boy. Only these nightmares were so much more terrible than the fever induced apparitions of his childhood.

There were nights that left him so shaken that he couldn't bear to be left alone, nights he thought that it would be better to end it all- resign himself to his fate. And it was those nights that Lucian would stay. Mitchell would fall asleep with his head on his shoulder and in the morning he would awaken with an arm draped protectively over his side. He slept better for it.

As his mind began to clear over the weeks that followed, he wondered why this man he had never known before would go to such lengths to come to his aid- the man who had originally been sent to kill him. When he asked, the older man had spoken to him of forgiveness and second chances; things he himself had not believed he deserved. Yet that was exactly what he had been given; a second chance. After all the weeks of being buried by guilt and fear, he discovered something else…

Hope.


	2. War Stories

_Summary: Wounds attained in battle don't always leave visible scars…_

* * *

**War Stories**

_Liverpool, 30 April 1971_

It was late on a Friday evening as Lucian led the way to a corner pub a few miles from where he and Mitchell were staying. Before they could step inside, Mitchell stopped on the pavement, narrowing his eyes at the building before sparing the older man a sideways glance.

"What?" asked Lucian, half amused at the rather accusatory look on Mitchell's face.

He shook his head. "You know, when you said you wanted to go to a pub I _thought_ you were actually planning on taking a night off for once."

"What makes you think I'm not?" he asked innocently.

"Oh, so you _didn't_ know that this was a favored hunting ground for local vampires," answered Mitchell, folding his arms across his chest.

Lucian shrugged. "I like to keep an eye on things," he said. "Doesn't mean we can't still make a night of it."

Mitchell rolled his eyes. "You're impossible, old man. You know that?" he answered with amusement, knowing full well how he hated the epithet. But, he was quickly reminded to be out of reach when he used it. Before he could realize his error, Lucian flung an arm around his neck, trapping him in a head lock.

"If I'm the old man, how come I've got faster reflexes than you?" he teased.

"Get off!" Mitchell protested, though it was difficult to take the demand seriously through his laughter.

Satisfied that he'd made his point, Lucian finally let him go. "Come on," he said, pushing the younger man towards the door. "Let's not stand out here all night."

"Fine," he answered. "But I'm gonna get some drinks."

The two made their way inside and Mitchell wove his way through the crowded pub, making his way to the bar while Lucian went to find them a seat. The bar itself was pretty packed, but he managed to find an opening to the left of an old man seated on a barstool who was speaking a bit louder than necessary to the rather harried barkeep. Mitchell couldn't help listening in as he leaned against the counter, waiting his turn.

"And you know why they called it no man's land?" the old man was saying. "Because no man in their right mind would cross it! Land mines, barbed wire, mortar rounds flying past your head; that's what we had to push through. Can't tell you how many I saw get blown to bits right in front of my eyes. And good lads they were too. Good mates."

The man took a long drink from the pint glass in his hand and Mitchell couldn't help but stare for a moment. A flood of memories came rushing back to him of his own time in the trenches, bringing to mind names and faces that he hadn't recalled in years. He realized with a jolt that the old man seated to his right had to be close to his own age. He couldn't help wondering if they had ever crossed paths on the battlefield.

Sensing his gaze, the man turned, eyeing Mitchell critically. "What is it, lad?" he said. "Too graphic of a depiction for you?"

Mitchell recovered quickly. "No, sir," he answered, suppressing a grin. _'Too graphic,'_ he thought. _If he only knew…_ "I just, uh…" He chose his next words carefully. "I've heard the stories, that's all. Just not for a long time now."

The man nodded. "Your granddad fought in the Great War, did he?" he asked.

"Yeah," he lied easily. "He, uh, he used to tell me about it."

"Well, don't get any fanciful ideas about it," said the man. "War is hell. Make no mistake about that."

"Alright then, Bert," the barkeep cut in. "Don't go harassing the other patrons with your anecdotes now."

"It's alright," Mitchell answered.

He ordered his drinks, including another for the old man who had emptied his glass, and paid the barkeep. When he got his drink he turned to the man and lifted his glass. "To the ones that didn't make it home," he said.

For a moment the old man simply stared at him, seemingly at a loss for words. Finally he nodded, raising his glass. "To the ones that didn't make it home," he echoed, and the two drank to their fallen comrades.

Lucian looked up when Mitchell finally made his way back, giving the younger man a questioning look. "What took you so long?" he asked good naturedly as he set their drinks on the table and slid into the booth.

Mitchell shook his head. "I guess I just realized how old I am," he answered. He filled him in on the conversation he had with the man at the bar and Lucian nodded.

"Well, some things never change," he said. "For a thousand years, old men have sat around campfires and in taverns, drinking and telling war stories. That could've been you by now if you hadn't been Turned," he grinned, nodding towards the man at the bar.

Mitchell shook his head. "No, I don't think so," he said. "I knew I was never going to make it out of there alive." He took a sip of his drink. "Well… I suppose I was half right about that anyway."

Lucian nodded in understanding, staring down at the glass in his hands.

"But I'm sure all of my war stories pale in comparison to the things you've seen," he continued.

"I wouldn't go that far," answered Lucian. "War is just as brutal as it was when I stood outside the walls of Nicaea if you ask me. If, perhaps, in different ways. Each new generation just keeps coming up with more creative ways of destroying one another. Only, I think the main difference in the last couple of generations is that humanity seems to have finally grown tired of the brutality of it all. Young men no longer romanticize the idea of dying in battle the way they did when I was young. In fact, just last week there was a group of veterans in Washington D.C. protesting America's involvement in Vietnam. And from the things I've heard about it, I can't say that I blame them."

"But you didn't romanticize the idea of dying in battle," said Mitchell.

"No," he answered with a weak smile. "At least, not when it came down to it."

"Is that why you chose this?" Mitchell asked tentatively. He was aware of the basic facts surrounding Lucian's Turning, the older man had spoken of it not long after they met, but never in great detail. He only knew that he had been fatally wounded at some point before reaching Antioch during the First Crusade. The vampire who would become his Sire had come to him offering an alternative to his imminent death and he had accepted. Mitchell had always been curious as to why a man who would have believed he was about to go to Heaven had chosen to become a vampire; one of the Damned, as the legends taught.

For a moment, Lucian was silent, taking a long drink as he contemplated how to respond. It was a time in his life that he had not spoken of in detail to anyone for centuries. There were still certain parts of his past that he did not feel comfortable sharing. He felt it would only serve to reopen old wounds; bring to the surface memories that were too painful to recall. Although, if he was perfectly honest with himself, it was hard having next to no one know who he really was and how he came to be this way. He had forgotten what it was like to have someone to share his experiences with before he found Mitchell, and the truth was, he had grown quite fond of him in the past two years that they had been traveling together. Though he knew he wouldn't be able to bring himself to tell the full story, he decided that there was more that he was willing to tell.

"I suppose in the end I realized that the Crusade was not a cause worth dying for," he began. "We were all led to believe that we were on some sort of 'mission from God' to reclaim the Holy Land when it was really nothing more than a power struggle. If I had doubts going in, it didn't matter. I was the Lord of Leicester, I didn't have a choice. It was my duty to the king. And so, I was either too naïve or just looking for a way to sleep better at night, but I chose to believe the former; and I chose to believe that my comrades felt the same. But I was wrong on both counts. My death didn't come at Nicaea, or even at Dorylaeum where we were ambushed. It wasn't a Turkish sword that pierced my armor that day. It was a Norman's."

Mitchell stared at the older man in shock as the weight of his words sank in. "You mean, one of the other _crusaders_ attacked you?"

Lucian nodded. "He was another lord; one of my neighbors. The march to Antioch was a nightmare. We were dangerously low on supplies, and while some of the villages along the road offered their aid, many of the knights had taken to simply looting and pillaging any settlement we came across. His men had been among the first. When I accused him of allowing supposedly Christian men to behave like barbarians, he drew his sword. We fought, I lost. As I lay dying, I realized none of it had been worth it. When Antony came to me offering the chance to not only continue living but fight for a noble cause, I took it."

"And what cause was that?" asked Mitchell.

"Protecting what it means to be _human_," he answered. "Whether that meant killing rogue vampires or the crusaders that ravaged innocent villages, that was our goal. I had finally found something I could get behind."

"So that's what all this is about," said Mitchell, indicating their surroundings. "You've never stopped."

Lucian shrugged, offering a small smile. "I'll always be a soldier, I suppose," he answered. "It's all I know."

As if on cue, the door opened behind Mitchell, and Lucian must have sensed something because he sat up straighter in his seat, fixated on the man who had just entered the pub.

Mitchell turned, following the path of his gaze, and recognized the man as one of Herrick's more recent recruits, Turned not long before he and his Sire had parted ways. He turned back and sat a little lower in his seat, hoping he hadn't been spotted, and tightened his grip on the glass in his hand. All the while, Lucian did not take his eyes off the man by the door.

As if sensing the intensity of his gaze, the man turned and locked eyes with Lucian. Whether he recognized him or was simply that intimidated by his stare, they would never know. Lucian couldn't help his self-satisfied smirk as the man immediately turned and headed back out the door.

Mitchell chanced a glance over his shoulder just as the door swung shut behind the retreating form.

"I will say it's nice when I don't even have to get out of my chair," said Lucian, taking a sip of his drink.

Mitchell grinned, relaxing his grip on his glass.

"So how did you know this place was a favored hunting ground for rogues?" Lucian asked.

Mitchell shrugged. "I used to come here from time to time," he answered, not meeting his gaze. "With Herrick." He didn't elaborate.

Lucian nodded, understanding what was left unsaid. It seemed they both had stories they preferred not to tell. Not yet.

* * *

**_So… that took about ten times longer than I thought it would…_**

**_I came up with the idea for this one-shot literally the day I posted the first one. It just ended up requiring A LOT more research I suppose. (Three different wars to fill in the gaps in my knowledge and to help me fill out Lucian's back story in my head.) Plus, on a personal note, I just got promoted! So work has been keeping me more busy than usual._**

**_I must confess that I have another 900 odd words written that I originally intended to be included in this one-shot, but the more I wrote, the more I realized that it would be better saved until later. So, I won't be divulging Lucian's full story until near the end of Revolution. So sorry to those of you who have been dying to know more about Lucian's past! Particularly where his son is concerned. But hey, think of it this way; you guys will get to hear the whole story just as soon as Mitchell does. ;)_**

**_I'm still in the heavy planning stages on Revolution, so no ETA on that yet, unfortunately. But I have been coming up with a lot of horrible ideas! (The evil plot-bunnies are winning…)_**

**_Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this further insight into Lucian's past!_**

**_Side note: I'm really frustrated with myself that I haven't come up with a casting choice for Antony (Lucian's Sire) yet, so if you have any brilliant ideas, feel free to throw them out there!_**

**_Thanks for reading! If I can't get Revolution rolling soon, I'll at least try to keep this thing going. It HAS helped me creatively, I will say. Again, feel free to throw out any prompts/ideas/suggestions of things you'd like to see. :)_**

**_I'd like to thank wikipedia, _****The Complete Idiot's Guide to the Crusades_, and my wonderful sister; the history buff and perpetual sounding board to my musings, for helping me make this thing possible. :P_**


	3. Doubt

_Summary: Lucian and Mitchell investigate a vampire attack, but there may be more to this killing than meets the eye…_

* * *

**Doubt**

_Liverpool, May 1971_

He should have known better than to follow Lucian on this particular errand. Trips to the morgue were never pleasant and had a nasty habit of bringing to the surface old memories that he was still struggling to forget. But whether out of boredom or some masochistic desire to continually punish himself for past sins, Mitchell had decided to go along anyway.

"When I'd heard you were in town, I thought you should be the first to know about this," the white-haired coroner was saying to Lucian as he led them back into the morgue. "They're getting bolder. This one was found not two blocks from here."

Lucian frowned at this, but said nothing.

They approached the metal table with a sheet drawn up over a human shape and the coroner drew back the covering, revealing a young woman who had to have been in her early twenties at most. She was quite lovely, aside from the jagged wound in her throat.

"She wasn't even completely drained," he explained. "Whoever did this was either in a rush or they were interrupted."

"Or they were looking to send a message," said Lucian darkly, leaning over to study the figure more closely.

Mitchell stood at his side, trying to appear as cool and collected as the older man ever was in these situations, but the longer he forced himself to gaze at the corpse on the slab, the more unnerved he became.

Finally, he'd had enough. He needed to get out of that room.

"I'm gonna step outside," he said softly.

Lucian turned, blue eyes searching his face before giving a short nod, his understanding made clear by the simple gesture.

"Not getting squeamish, are you lad?" said the coroner. "I figured vampires were used to these things."

"Just indulging a bad habit," Mitchell answered coolly, retrieving a cigarette from the tin in his inside pocket and heading towards the door.

"Oh, you don't want to do that now," the coroner called after him. "Those things'll kill you!"

He could still hear the man laughing at his own bad joke as the door to the morgue swung shut behind him and he made his way toward the exit.

The sun was just beginning to set as he stepped outside and there was a bit of a chill in the air. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself, the cigarette held between his lips as he started to move away from the door.

He knew that Lucian wasn't a big fan of his smoking, often arguing that just because his lungs would repair themselves didn't mean he should actively destroy them, but Mitchell was simply trading one addiction for another, he'd explained. Having given up the drug-like high of the blood of a fresh kill, he needed something else to fixate on when the cravings started, and smoking helped settle his nerves. So, Lucian didn't really give him a hard time about it anymore. Especially at times like this. He had thought he was doing better with it, but seeing that body just now had only served to remind him that he was still haunted by the sins of his past. He needed a distraction.

Feeling too exposed standing in front of the building while there was still daylight, Mitchell opted to duck around the corner and stand in the mouth of the alley before lighting up. He retrieved a book of matches from his jacket pocket, having still been partial to the old method just as he still preferred to roll his own cigarettes, but for the life of him he couldn't get the match to ignite. He would have liked to blame the sudden breeze that had picked up, but he needed to stop his hands from shaking first.

"Need a light?"

Mitchell started at the voice, cursing himself for being too preoccupied to notice the figure creeping up behind him, but he recovered quickly, taking the proffered lighter from the man's outstretched hand and lighting his cigarette.

"Who still uses matches anyway?" said the man, taking back the lighter as it was returned and depositing it in the front pocket of his jacket. "You're showing your age, Mitchell."

He took a long drag from his cigarette and held it for a moment before letting it out slowly. "What are you doing here, Steven?" he asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Looking for you," he answered. "Herrick wanted me to make sure you understood his message."

Mitchell stared at him, confused. He hadn't heard a word from his Sire in more than two years and had preferred to keep it that way. Still, he couldn't stop himself from asking, "What message?"

The man grinned. "The girl," he said, nodding toward the building behind them. "She was for you. He wanted you to see what you've been missing. Or are you really that into playing 'good cop' now that you didn't figure it out?"

Mitchell stood silent as the words sank in. The dead girl in the morgue; Herrick had done that just to get his attention? He suddenly felt sick, but he kept his composure. "And he thought that showing me that dead girl would accomplish what, exactly?"

"He wants you to come back," Steven responded, as if this was obvious. "He said he's willing to forgive this past two years' indiscretions and bring you back into the fold. He wants you to lead alongside him. All you have to do is say the word."

"_He's_ willing to forgive-" Mitchell was furious. He dropped his cigarette on the ground, extinguishing it with his boot, and took a step forward. Though the man was much larger than him, he stood toe to toe, challenging him with his gaze. "That bastard left me for dead. Do you understand? I could wait a thousand years to see his face again and it would be too soon. So you can tell Herrick to go screw himself. I'm not gonna be his poster boy. Not this time. He doesn't own me anymore."

Steven stared at him. "I can't believe you," he said. "You'd pass up a chance at real power in favor of, what? Shadowing a poor excuse for a vampire like Lucian Harcourt?" He shook his head in disgust. "You're just as weak as he is."

Mitchell sneered at him. "Yeah? That's not what you were saying when you ran away at the sight of him last month."

In hindsight, it was probably unwise to taunt the much larger vampire.

In one swift motion, he had Mitchell by the throat, slamming his head against the brick wall hard enough to make him see stars. He clawed at the hand crushing his windpipe, but the grip only tightened as he struggled.

"But I haven't explained option two yet," said Steven, leaning in close to his ear. "You see, Herrick suspected that you might refuse. And he said if that was the case, then you were a liability. Now, what do you suppose he asked me to do about that?" He lifted him higher, pressing his back against the wall so that his feet were barely touching the ground. And Mitchell couldn't help the pained whimper that escaped him as the hand closed even tighter around his throat.

As darkness began to creep into the edges of his vision, he caught a blur of movement over the large man's shoulder. Before he could register what he was seeing, the figure pinning him against the wall went rigid, the grip loosening on his throat. He glanced down and could see the bloody tip of the silver stake protruding from the man's chest directly through his heart.

As the figure crumbled away to ash, Mitchell collapsed against the wall, massaging his throat as he gasped for air. He closed his eyes as the world began to spin and felt a pair of hands grip him by the arms. When he opened them again, he found a pair of blue eyes staring back at him with concern.

"Are you alright?" asked Lucian, not relinquishing his hold.

"M'fine," Mitchell responded hoarsely, waving him off.

Lucian finally released him, but he stayed close, not liking how unsteady the younger man seemed on his feet.

"I know who killed that girl," he stated simply.

"Tell me later," he answered. "Let's get you home first."

Lucian insisted on taking a cab back to their flat and the pair road in silence, not wishing to discuss anything in front of the driver, and that suited Mitchell just fine. His head was pounding. By the time they reached their destination, he could hardly see straight, and so he didn't object to Lucian taking him by the arm and leading him up the stairs.

As soon as they got in the door, he immediately collapsed into one of the chairs at the kitchen table while Lucian locked up behind them. The older man then crossed to him and knelt down to eye level. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"M'head hurts," Mitchell answered groggily.

He cupped his chin, staring into unfocused brown eyes with concern. "I think you have a concussion," he concluded, releasing him and rising to his feet.

"Mmm," was his only response, and Mitchell leaned over the table, burying his face in his arms.

He could hear Lucian moving around the kitchen, every sound amplified by his vampiric hearing and the pounding in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and retreated further, trying to block out the sounds.

The unmistakably familiar scent of blood reached him and he cracked open an eye as Lucian slid a glass across the table to him. He eyed it reprovingly.

Lucian sighed. "You can't go off blood completely," he said.

"I can try," he mumbled into his arms.

"Now's not the time to be stubborn," he answered. "We've been through this. Your body can't produce its own blood anymore. You have to drink. Come on," he said, nudging his arm. "You'll feel better."

Reluctantly, Mitchell lifted his head, taking the proffered glass. He downed it as quickly as he could. The bagged blood was still pretty unappealing.

He started to feel better almost immediately, the pounding in his head fading to a dull throbbing. His throat even felt less tight.

"Do you want the rest of it?" Lucian asked expectantly.

He nodded.

By the time he finished, he felt completely exhausted. Lucian led him into the living room where he dropped down on the couch, and before he could assure the older man that he felt completely fine, he fell asleep.

Mitchell awoke a few hours later, lying on his side with a pillow under his head and a blanket drawn up over his shoulders. He sat up slowly, blinking into the darkness and found that he was alone in the living room. He rose from the couch, and upon further inspection of the rest of the flat, could find no trace of Lucian anywhere. Concluding that the older man must have stepped out, he gathered some fresh clothes from his room and padded down the hall to the bathroom.

Once he had showered and dressed, he stepped back out to discover that Lucian had still not returned. He dropped down onto the couch and was about to turn on the television when there was a knock at the front door.

Mitchell froze, instantly on the alert. Who could be knocking at two o'clock in the morning? He got up slowly and crossed to the door, pressing himself against it to look through the peephole. His eyes widened in recognition of the figure on the other side and he took a step back, trying to decide what he should do.

"Open up, Mitchell," came the voice from the other side. "I know you're there. I just want to talk to you."

Clenching his jaw, Mitchell steeled himself. He reached for the door handle and pulled it open, glaring down at the man in the police uniform standing on the doorstep.

"Well, aren't you going to invite me in?" asked Herrick after a moment's silence.

"Nice try," Mitchell answered with a sneer, folding his arms across his chest. "What, are you posing as a cop now?"

"No, not posing," he said. "Joining the police force has its benefits, you see. It's a lot easier to clean up the messes."

"I'll bet," said Mitchell. "How did you find me, anyway?"

"Oh, I have my sources just as your friend Lucian has his," said Herrick. "You didn't think you could hide forever, did you?"

"I'm not hiding," he responded, though his voice lacked the conviction he'd intended.

"I see," said Herrick, flashing his predatory grin. "I take it you got my message."

"I take it you got my answer."

"Well, not really," he said. "You see, piles of ash aren't very good at delivering messages."

"Neither are corpses," came the retort.

Herrick grinned. "Listen to you; so self-righteous. I think the old man is rubbing off on you."

"Better him than you," Mitchell shot back.

Herrick never faltered. "And how long do you suppose that's going to last? You think you can tag along with one of the Old Ones for the rest of your days? Lucian Harcourt doesn't get attached to people, he travels alone. And he certainly doesn't spend his time 'rehabilitating' rogue vampires. Sooner or later his charity is going to run out and he'll decide you're more trouble than you're worth, and where will that leave you? I think we both know that you don't manage very well on your own. What are you going to do then, Mitchell?"

He wanted to speak, but he found that the words only stuck in his throat. He settled for glaring at the older man instead.

Herrick gave a satisfied grin. "My offer still stands," he declared. "Come and find me when the time comes." And with that he turned and headed down the hall, disappearing from sight.

Mitchell stood for a moment longer before finally coming to his senses and closing the door, locking it behind him. He shuffled back into the living room and dropped onto the couch, staring absently at the blank television screen. He tried to bring himself to turn it on, but he couldn't even move. All he could focus on were Herrick's words running through his head.

How long _had_ he expected this arrangement to last? He hadn't really thought about it before. Maybe because he was afraid of what the answer would be. _But we've been travelling together for more than two years, never apart, _he reasoned. _Neither of us has ever even hinted that we wanted things to be different._

_You think so? _countered the voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Herrick._ Then where is he now?_

Mitchell sat frozen for almost an hour, caught in an internal debate, until he finally caught the telltale sound of a key turning in the lock and the front door opened. He didn't even look up as Lucian stepped inside, locking the door behind him and removing his jacket before crossing to the living room.

"I didn't think you'd be awake," said Lucian as he stepped around the back of the couch, taking a seat beside him.

"Where'd you go?" Mitchell inquired without looking up.

"I was just taking care of a few things," he answered simply.

He just nodded.

When Mitchell continued to stare blankly at the opposite wall, Lucian finally broke the silence. "What's wrong?"

"I think we should move on," he said suddenly. "Someone was here earlier, this place isn't safe anymore."

Lucian sat up straighter, eyes shifting around the room as if he might find some unnamed intruder hiding in the shadows. "Alright," he answered finally. "We'll leave in the morning."

He was about to rise from his seat, but Mitchell wasn't through. "I think," he said, "that we should go separately."

There was a brief pause, then Lucian said, "If that's what you want."

Mitchell's heart sank. Admittedly, he had hoped that the older man wouldn't be so quick to agree, but he dismissed the thought. He was being childish.

"Or is this about something else?" he pressed, picking up on his abnormally subdued behavior. "You said you knew who killed that girl."

"_I_ killed that girl," he answered bitterly. "At least, she's dead because of me, so I just as good as."

"What are you talking about?" asked Lucian, perplexed by this sudden revelation.

Mitchell sighed, still refusing to meet his gaze. "It was Herrick," he explained. "He was trying to get my attention; show me what I'm missing."

Lucian frowned. "What about that vampire in the alley?" he asked.

He shook his head. "Steven was just the messenger," he answered. "He said that Herrick was willing to 'forgive me' and he wanted me to come back."

"And are you going to?" asked Lucian, his expression unreadable.

Mitchell stared at him. "Of _course_ not. How could-" He cut himself off, unable to hold the gaze of those piercing blue eyes. He took a breath. "Look, the point is, this isn't gonna stop. Herrick is a stubborn bastard. He'll keep at it until he gets what he wants, one way or another. You've got enough to deal with without my problems and you've done more than enough for me already."

Lucian shook his head. "You say that like I've kept you around out of charity," he said lightly.

Mitchell cringed inwardly, but said nothing.

"It's called being a friend, Mitchell," he continued, turning serious. "I 'deal' with your problems because I care about you. Don't you know that?"

_Yeah, but for how long?_ he thought miserably. "I just… think we'd both be better off if I went it alone for a while," he answered softly.

Lucian gave him a long, hard look. "Is that you talking or _him_?"

He didn't answer.

"He was here, wasn't he?" he pressed. "Is that what this is really about?"

Again he remained silent, staring down at his hands in his lap.

"I'll tell you what," said Lucian, inching a little closer so they sat shoulder to shoulder. "If you can look me in the eye and honestly say that you'd rather be on your own right now, then tomorrow, we'll go our separate ways. I won't say another word about it. I'm not about to try and control your life; I'm not Herrick. Just tell me what you want to do."

After a long pause, Mitchell finally lifted his head, brown eyes connecting with steel blue… but he couldn't bring himself to lie. He released a heavy sigh. "I just don't want to be a burden," he answered almost inaudibly.

Lucian shook his head. "You are only ever a burden on yourself. Hasn't it ever occurred to you that I might just like having you around? Or did you just hit your head harder than I thought?" he teased, evoking a small smile out of the younger man as he nudged him with his shoulder.

"Look, whatever Herrick said, don't even think on it," he continued. "He's only trying to manipulate you. You should know that better than anyone."

"I know," said Mitchell. "I suppose I was just… _afraid_… that he was right."

"About what?" asked Lucian.

He paused for a moment, weighing his words. "That I was going to end up alone," he said finally. "And that eventually I'd _have_ to go back to him because I couldn't bear it."

"What makes you think you're going to end up alone?" he asked, studying him closely.

"Because-" Mitchell sighed. He might as well just say it. "Because you're used to being on your own, you don't travel with anyone. All I do is slow you down and- don't give me that look, you know it's true- Anyway, you've got more important things to deal with without me getting in the way. I'm just afraid that one day you're gonna realize that I cause more trouble than I'm worth and then you'll _have_ to move on."

Lucian shook his head, his anger at Mitchell's Sire building. "Did you let him feed you that line as well?" he accused, speaking a bit more harshly than he had intended.

The younger man opened his mouth to fire back a retort, but found he had nothing to offer. Instead, he simply retreated further into his corner of the couch, folding his arms protectively across his chest and turning his face away to stare at the opposite wall. "You didn't say it wasn't true," he muttered under his breath.

Lucian sighed, feeling his anger dissipate. "I didn't think I needed to," he answered.

He noticed Mitchell's shoulders relax slightly, but he continued to sit in silence. He decided to try a different tactic. "Come here," he said, slipping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him closer.

The younger man was slightly resistant at first, but he finally gave in, pressing himself against his side and resting his head against his shoulder with a defeated sigh.

"I have a confession to make," said Lucian softly.

"And what's that?" Mitchell indulged when the older man seemed to be waiting for an answer.

"When we left Essex two years ago, after you got back on your feet, I didn't decide to take you with me out of concern that you'd relapse," he began. "I did it for entirely selfish reasons."

Mitchell lifted his head, looking up at him in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Don't you?" he questioned. "Because I did it for the same reason as you. I didn't want to be alone. The only difference was, I didn't realize it until I met you. I'd spent so many years in solitude that, up until then, I had forgotten what I was missing."

For a moment, the younger man stared at him in bewilderment as the words began to sink in. "Really?" he asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

Lucian nodded. "So you see?" he continued with a grin. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

Mitchell quirked an eyebrow at him. "Is that a threat?" he smirked.

"That's a promise," came the reply, his teasing tone turning serious.

In the darkness of that small flat in Liverpool, brown eyes studied blue, searching for the slightest trace of hesitation behind those words, but the older man did not waver. Satisfied, Mitchell simply nodded. "Good."

* * *

**_Once again, that took longer than expected… I had planned to post this earlier today, but I ended up stuck at the car dealership for about 3 1/2 hours. But, hey, I got a new car! Happy early birthday to me! Lol._**

**_Anyway, I realize this has sort of turned into the Early Adventures of Mitchell and Lucian, but I hope you guys like it!_**

**_Lately, I've actually sort of come to regret getting rid of Herrick so early on in the series because I keep coming up with new ideas. But then I realized I have about 40 years worth of timeline gap to play with, and so here we are! Expect to see more of Herrick from time to time._**

**_So, thanks for reading! Please share your thoughts. :)_**


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